


Carry Your Life On My Back

by coffeejunkii



Series: Birds and Bridges [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: A Look Into Phil's Past, AU, Clint and Natasha: BFFs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Discussion of HIV/AIDS, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, Phil Needs a Hug, discussion of safe sex, feelings are hard, sometimes Christmas isn't easy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:36:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3115211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just before Christmas, Clint decides to surprise Phil, but that plan backfires, some events from Phil's past surface, there are a few heartfelt conversations, and a quiet Christmas with the two favorite people in Clint's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carry Your Life On My Back

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to share this fic with you--it reveals a few things about Phil's backstory that I've known since I first started writing this series. They expand a conversation Phil and Clint have in the first fic of this series and set their relationship on a new (stronger) path.
> 
> Plus some interesting Christmas gifts, an appearance by Natasha, and lots of love all around.
> 
> Many thanks to my betas, Rurounihime and Ralkana.
> 
> The title is from “Moving, Shaking” by Great Lake Swimmers.

The soothing sound of Phil's alarm wakes Clint. He finds himself tightly curled against Phil's back, nearly entirely covered by the comforter. Must have been another cold night. He moves with Phil as he reaches to hit the snooze button on his phone. That gives them ten more minutes. When Phil settles back down, his shoulders rise and fall with a sigh.

Yeah, Mondays suck.

Clint noses between Phil's shoulder blades, brushing against the soft cotton of his T-shirt. A hand reaches back to feel for his arm—presumably his wrist so Phil can tug it around his side—but since Clint has tucked both of his arms tightly against his own chest, all the maneuver does is unsettle the tight comforter cocoon. 

Clint whines at all the cold air. He hates Phil's stingy landlord, who only lets the heat kick in for the morning after they need to get up on Mondays. 

With a quiet snort, Phil turns over. He gathers Clint to him. “If you actually wore the flannel pajamas I gave you, you wouldn't be so cold.”

Clint presses himself as close to Phil as he can, trying to soak up all the wonderful warmth. “I wear them all the time.” He loves those PJs. He really does.

“Not to bed.”

“That's different.” Maybe if anything other than briefs and, when it gets really cold, a T-shirt, didn't get tangled around him, he'd wear actual pajamas to bed.

Phil doesn't respond, but his smile is easy to feel against Clint's cheek. That reminds Clint. “I want to show you something before work on Friday. If that's okay.”

“Before work?”

“Yeah. It's a surprise. I figured if we do it on Friday, getting up extra early will be okay because we can sleep in on Saturday.”

“And we can only do this before work?”

Clint hesitates. He doesn't want to give too much away. “Kinda.”

“Okay.”

Clint pushes up to kiss Phil's jaw. “Thank you.”

Phil shifts until he can kiss Clint properly. Things are just getting good when the alarm interrupts them. Clint groans. Phil pulls away with a mumbled “sorry” and turns it off. This time, he doesn't lie back down.

“No,” Clint mutters into his pillow.

Phil squeezes his hip. “I promise I'll have coffee ready when you're done showering.”

Clint opens his eyes. It's barely light, but he can still make out Phil's fluffed hair and generally rumpled appearance. It only makes him want to tug Phil back down under the comforter. But they do need to get ready. He struggles upright. “Thank you.”

Phil brushes a hand over his cheek. “The heat'll be on, too.”

Despite all his resolve, Clint tips his head forward against Phil's shoulder. “'Kay.”

Phil's fingers wind into his hair. “Are you feeling okay? You seem more tired than usual.”

“'m fine.” Clint straightens. “Really.”

Phil studies him intently. “Maybe I'll make some orange juice, too.”

Clint ducks his head. He's been with Phil a year and a half and it still surprises him that Phil makes sure he's taken care of. “That'd be great, yeah.”

“Come on, then.” Phil stands and stretches, which is a very nice sight.

Clint leans over the side of the bed to grasp the flannel PJ pants he dropped there last night and manages to get them on without entirely moving out from under the comforter. Phil shakes his head, but there's also a fond smile on his face. He holds out a hand, which Clint takes with much gratitude. 

“Coffee. OJ.” 

“Yes,” Phil affirms.

Clint stands, feeling almost half-awake. When Phil turns toward the door, Clint shuffles after him.

**

Clint is a bundle of nerves on Friday morning. What if Phil doesn't like what he has planned? It seems like a pretty sure bet, but Clint doesn't want to make them get up an hour earlier than usual for a disappointment.

Phil shoots him an odd look when they walk past Astor Square, where they usually split up to go their respective ways. 

“We'll take the N/R,” Clint explains, steering them toward Broadway. 

“Uptown or downtown?”

“Uptown.”

Phil lets out a hum. “Will you tell me which stop?”

“Nope.”

They descend into the subway and get on the next train. It's a quiet ride filled with early morning commuters and some disgruntled school kids. 

As they pull out of the Times Square stop, Clint turns to Phil. “Next one.”

“Okay.”

Phil hasn't asked any other questions. At least not about the surprise. He's asked the usual questions—what kinds of things are on Clint's schedule for today; if he's going to see Nat for lunch. It made Clint feel more settled. But once they step out onto forty-ninth street, his heart starts pounding again. 

“This way.” Clint gestures east, which gets him another curious look. East means heading toward tourist central, an area both of them normally avoid. Phil walks steadily beside him, though, even when they swing into Rockefeller Center.

It's still fairly empty, clumps of tourists dotted here and there, but nothing compared to how packed it will become as the day goes on. They hurry past two overly cheerful Salvation Army guys with their pesky bells and upbeat Christmas music. Clint scowls at them out of habit.

Clint stops when they've reached the spot exactly opposite the [giant Christmas tree](https://flic.kr/p/qcYC54). He turns toward it. “That's it. Um, the surprise.”

Phil looks at the tree for a long moment. “You took me here to see the tree?” He sounds wistful.

“Uh, yeah.” Clint shifts from one foot to other. “You mentioned that you hadn't seen it in a long time, and I figured if we went early, we could avoid the crowds, and—” He falls silent.

Phil looks down at the ground. His lips are pressed tightly together. He doesn't look wistful; he looks sad.

Clint steps closer. “I totally fucked this up, didn't I?”

Phil glances at him. “No, no, you didn't. You couldn't know that...” He stops. His throat bobs.

Whatever memories are surfacing, they're hitting Phil hard. Clint slides an arm around his side. “I'm sorry.” 

Phil pulls Clint into a hug, which Clint is glad to return. The pained noise Phil makes breaks Clint's heart. He should have been able to foresee this, but he still feels like a complete idiot for bringing Phil here. Maybe he should have guessed that Phil's aversion to seeing the tree reached beyond crowds of tourists. He brushes his lips over the shell of Phil's ear and holds him for as long as he needs.

Phil pulls away with a deep breath. “I should have told you why I don't come here during the holidays.”

Clint shrugs. Phil doesn't owe him anything. Clint isn't the kind of guy who needs to know every little thing about his partner's life. Sure, he's happy when Phil tells him stories from his past—good and bad—but he doesn't feel he's entitled to them.

Phil takes Clint's hand. “I want to tell you. But not here.”

Clint nods. He gets that. It's obviously not the kind of story Phil would want to tell in a hurry before work. 

“I appreciate the surprise.” Phil's voice is filled with affection. “Please don't feel bad about bringing me here.”

Phil knows him too well. “I'll try. Any other holiday things I should avoid?” Clint would rather know for sure. 

“None.” Phil even manages a small smile.

“Good.” They have a few things planned for Christmas, and he doesn't want to see Phil that sad again.

“I should probably get going. Want to walk to the subway together? I'll take the six from fifty-first.”

“Yeah. I'm supposed to meet Bruce at the zoo anyway.” Clint is relieved to hear that they don't have to split up yet. If he were due at the office first thing, they would have to say goodbye here. 

Phil keeps his hand in Clint's as they walk the three blocks over to Lexington. They kiss as commuters rush past them, spilling out of the subway station into the street. 

Clint's hand lingers on Phil's side. “Text me when you get on the train tonight, okay? I want to make chili, but I can wait on the cornbread until you're on your way.”

“You're cooking?” 

They usually order take-out on Fridays, but on the way to the subway, Clint had decided he wanted to make something comforting for them tonight. “Yeah.”

There's understanding in Phil's eyes. “I'll let you know. I should be able to get away by eight at the latest.”

“Alright.” Clint presses another quick kiss to Phil's lips. “Love you.” 

Instead of the usual echoing response, Phil holds Clint's gaze. “I love you, too.” It's quiet and purposeful. Phil turns away and is down the stairs before Clint can formulate an answer, leaving him standing on the street with his heart in his throat.

**

Clint can tell that Phil is nervous as soon as they get up on Saturday. Neither of them bring it up as they go through their routine of breakfast at the Greek bakery, followed by grocery shopping for the weekend. They keep up a steady conversation about planning for Christmas Eve, when Nat will join them for dinner, and Christmas Day. They have plans to Skype with Jen when the kids open their gifts, which Clint is admittedly excited about. But all those prospects can't settle the unease he feels as he walks home with Phil.

They get started on lunch—just sandwiches—and eat quietly. When Clint puts away their dishes. Phil disappears, but that's nothing unusual. He's probably getting started on laundry or checking his email. 

Phil steps into the kitchen area as Clint closes the dishwasher. “Nearly done,” Clint informs him. He grabs a sponge to wipe down the countertops.

“Can you do that later?” Phil's hand comes to rest on Clint's lower back. “Come sit with me.”

Clint drops the sponge into the sink. “Sure.”

There's a photo album on the coffee table, which Phil pulls into his lap once they're sitting on the couch.

“There are a few things I want to tell you.” Phil draws a finger down the cover of the album, but he doesn't open it. “I don't talk about these things a lot, so bear with me.”

Clint tucks a knee under himself and props his arm up on the back of the couch. He settles his hand just below Phil's nape. “Sure.”

Phil turns to the first page, and Clint can't help but laugh. The picture is adorable and nerdy: Phil in his high school graduation gown, cap askew, with a plaid shirt and tie underneath, and the most 80s haircut imaginable.

“Um. Sorry?” Clint tries.

“That picture deserved that.”

“If it helps, you've come a long way since then.”

Phil smiles at that, but his expression turns somber quickly. “I don't even know why I put that picture in there. Most of this album is about my time at Columbia.”

Phil talks about college as he turns the pages. Many of the photos are what you'd expect—some touristy snapshots of New York early on, and then groups of friends, changing seasons, some parties. Phil pauses when they come to a picture of him standing next to a lanky guy. Clint thinks it might be taken on the bank of the Hudson, but the city has changed too much for him to tell.

“That's Dan.” It takes Phil a long moment before he continues. “He was my first boyfriend. First for a lot of things. First guy I kissed. First person I slept with. First person who told me he loved me.” His voice cracks on those last words.

Clint rubs his thumb along the side of Phil's neck. He isn't sure if Phil expects him to say anything. Dan looks like a good guy. A good first person to be in love with. Nice college romance—the kind Clint already figured Phil may have had, despite Phil having told him that he struggled with coming out. Maybe Dan helped with that.

Phil draws a shaky breath. His hand is spread out on the page, fingertips brushing the edge of the photo. “Sorry. I—I don't look at these pictures much, and when I do, it's hard.”

“He meant a lot to you.”

“Yeah.” Phil turns the page. The photos are different—less composed. More intimate. Many more pictures of Phil than in the first half of the album. “Dan took most of these. He was into photography, and he—”

“And he was into you.” It's easy to see. There's a photo of Phil asleep on the subway that makes it plain as day.

“He was.”

“I get the sense that this story doesn't have a happy ending,” Clint says cautiously.

Phil turns another page. It only has one photo on it. Dan and Phil, their arms around each other, laughing. They look incredibly happy together. “No. He died.”

Clint suspected as much. “Cancer?” Something tells him that it wasn't an accident, or something else that was quick and unexpected.

Phil shakes his head. “AIDS.”

“Fuck, no.” Clint pushes into Phil's space. He presses his forehead against the side of Phil's face, taking care not to jostle his glasses. “I'm so sorry,” he whispers. He brings his free hand up to Phil's chest. Phil's hand quickly covers it, holding it there. 

Clint's too young to know much about AIDS at the time Phil was with Dan, but he remembers with sharp clarity watching _Philadelphia_ on cable when he was a teenager and thinking that he'd die of AIDS even though he'd never even had sex with anyone. He cannot imagine losing a person he loved to it, especially not being as young as Phil was.

Phil pulls away a little, but he holds onto Clint's hand. “It was—I don't know if I can describe it. Dan showed me this world, this community, that I knew existed in abstract ways, but I probably wouldn't have found my way there if it wasn't for him. And it was amazing to discover. To know it was fine. That it was fine for me to be gay. Even if I hadn't told anyone at school or my family.”

Clint can relate to that. He has similar memories. He may not have had any issues telling anyone that he was gay—not even back in Iowa—but he certainly remembers feeling alone and clinging to any sign that he wasn't. Like his social studies teacher defiantly putting a rainbow sticker on her classroom door. Or sneaking away to Pride in Des Moines.

“I'd heard of AIDS, of course. I started at Columbia in '84, and AIDS was all over the news. And I knew people who got sick and died, but they weren't close friends.” Phil pauses and shakes his head. “I think I was too busy with college and then too busy being in love to notice what was really happening.”

Clint wants to say something, but he doesn't want to stop the flow of Phil's words.

“Then Dan got sick. At first he thought it was just a cold, but...it wasn't.” Phil turns the page to more photos of Dan. He still smiles as brightly as ever, but he looks thinner. “He insisted we continue doing all the things we normally did. So we went to see the tree at Rockefeller Center, like we had the year before. He died a few weeks later.”

Phil closes the album and pushes it onto the coffee table. He takes off his glasses and sits eerily still.

Clint waits, but Phil doesn't say anything. Doesn't reach for him. Clint gently folds Phil into his arms. He's not going to sit by while Phil quietly breaks down next to him without any outward sign. Phil wraps an arm around Clint's waist and tucks his head into his neck. His breath hitches a few times, but he doesn't cry. If that were Clint, it would be tears and snot everywhere by this point. Phil processes his feelings differently. He'll probably stick close to Clint this weekend; be more demonstrative with his affection. Well, even more demonstrative.

Phil loosens his hold, but doesn't move away. Clint leans back into the corner of the couch to make them more comfortable, and Phil follows, curling into him. 

“The first thing Dan asked me to do after he was diagnosed was get tested. Which was difficult because they'd only approved a commercial HIV test a few months earlier. But we managed to find someone who'd do the test. I was negative. Or I wouldn't be here.”

Clint runs a hand down Phil's back. Long, slow strokes. “Was Dan glad to hear that?”

“He was. But it meant—it changed our entire relationship. There was so little reliable information at the time. People had barely processed that they shouldn't fuck without condoms. You didn't really know what was safe and what wasn't, and Dan didn't want to take any risk with me. It took a lot of convincing for him to even let me hold him. It was hard.”

Clint tries to imagine it, but his brain refuses to go down that road. He and Phil have gotten through a few minor illnesses together. Clint always wants to be comforted when he feels miserable, perhaps because he never really had anyone do that for him when he was growing up. It hurts to think about having to take care of a partner you can't comfort. Who won't let you.

“Can I please kiss you?” Clint wouldn't ask under normal circumstances, but he doesn't know what mood Phil is in. Clint is barely able to finish the question before Phil cuts him off with an urgent, messy kiss. It's exactly what Clint wants—reassurance that Phil is with him, alive. As always when he kisses Phil, it makes him want more. He'd drag Phil to bed if he knew that was something he wanted. 

Phil turns the kiss into something gentler until he moves away with a last press of lips. “Thank you. For that kiss, and for listening.”

Clint nods. “I'm sorry you had to go through that with Dan. That you lost him. And that everything was so fucked back then and no one knew anything.”

“Fucked. That's a good word for what was going on. I'm glad you were too young to live through that.”

Clint is tempted to roll his eyes. Not necessarily for Phil bringing up their difference in age, but for Phil wanting to protect him even when Clint is trying to make these memories less painful for him. “Hey, this isn't about me, okay?” He says it as gently as possible. “Having to remember this kind of stuff is hard. And it hurts. And it's okay that it hurts. We have the rest of the weekend to make it less—to make it hurt less.” Clint wishes he were better with words.

“In that case...can we get the comforter and take a nap? And then watch TV after?”

“Yes.” Clint nuzzles Phil's cheek and places a series of rapid-fire kisses just under his jaw until Phil bursts into giggles. Maybe it's unfair for Clint to use his knowledge of where Phil is ticklish, but those giggles are the best sound he's heard all day. “I'll go get it.”

As he stands, Phil grasps his hand. He doesn't say anything, but the gratitude in his eyes is easy to read. Clint gives Phil's hand a squeeze and drops it, walking toward the bedroom.

**

The rest of the day unfolds like many other Saturdays, with the exception that Phil is more subdued. They watch _Die Hard_ after dinner, one of their shared Christmas favorites. Once they're settled in bed, Phil reaches for the book he's reading—a history of Central Park, from which he often shares facts and anecdotes. Clint considers his own book on birds in the Southwest, but decides against it. He lies down, face pressed into Phil's hip and hand on his thigh, just above his knee. Phil brushes a hand over Clint's hair and shoulder before returning to propping up his book.

Clint waits for the soothing rhythm of Phil turning pages and asking “did you know that...” Neither happens, though, and after a few minutes, Phil closes his book, takes off his glasses, and places both on the nightstand.

“Don't feel like reading?”

Phil lies down, tucking the comforter around them both. “Can't focus. Too many other thoughts.”

“Yeah.” Clint hopes that's invitation enough should Phil want to talk more about Dan or whatever else is on his mind. Trying to figure out how to give Phil his space but also showing him that he's happy to listen is difficult. 

“You want to turn off the light?” It's Phil's way of asking if Clint is ready to go to sleep.

Clint hums in acknowledgment and hits the off switch. Phil turns on his side, back to Clint, and Clint follows, wrapping himself around Phil. It's how they fall asleep after a difficult day; the first time they ever shared a bed, Phil asked to be held like this. That was a hard day, too.

Clint expects to slip into sleep, but he can't relax enough. His thoughts keep circling back to everything Phil has told him and all the unspoken things beyond that. How Phil and Dan met. How long they were together. If his family ever found out about Dan. How Phil coped after Dan passed away.

Once Phil is asleep, Clint gets out of bed. He grabs his phone and Phil's hoodie, which he puts on as he walks into the living room. The only light he turns on is the Christmas tree in the corner. It's late, after midnight, but Clint is fairly certain that Natasha is still up. As he pulls up her name on his phone, he grabs the fleece blanket from the back of the couch and spreads it over his legs.

“Hey, you're up late,” Natasha greets him. She sounds happy and fully awake.

Clint vaguely remembers that Maria was due back in town earlier after having spent a few weeks in Mumbai. “Yeah. Kinda.”

Nat must have picked up on his tone. “Did something happen?”

“No, not really.” Maybe calling her wasn't such a great idea. Clint doesn't know how to start talking about what's on his mind.

“Are you sure?” It's a soft question, gentler than usual.

Clint sighs. He draws up his knees. “Phil told me a few things about—well, it's kinda personal. Stuff from his past that isn't exactly happy.”

“Any reason why that came up?”

“I told you that I wanted to take him to see the tree in Rockefeller Center, right?”

“Yeah.”

Clint tugs the blanket up to his chin. “That was the reason. It made him think of things.” He nearly rolls his eyes at himself for sounding so dumb.

Nat doesn't call him out on it. “You couldn't know that.”

“That's what Phil said, too.”

“That's because he's a smart guy and he adores you.” The smile is easy to hear in her voice.

“But I still feel stupid for taking him there, and now he has all these memories he's struggling with and I don't know how to help him. You know Phil, he's very stoic about it all.” 

“I'm sure just being there with him helps.”

Clint lets his head rest on the back of the couch. “I know, but...I don't want him to be sad on Christmas. If I hadn't taken him, then—”

“It's not your fault. If he's still sad on Wednesday, we can always get drunk together.”

Clint laughs. It's Nat's solution to many things in life. “I don't know if he'd appreciate being hungover when we talk to his family the next day.”

“You know I'll make sure he isn't hungover.” 

“I know.” She has guided Clint through many an alcohol-soaked evening without any lingering effects the following day. “This sucks,” he admits quietly.

“Yeah, it does, but that's the way it goes sometimes. I'll bring the vodka just in case.”

“Thanks.” Clint is suddenly really glad that they're not going to Chicago and that he gets to spend Christmas with his two favorite people. He wishes he could hug her right now, even though she'd only let him under protest. “Don't forget the hipster ice cream—” There's a creak behind him. Clint turns around to see Phil a few feet away, looking sleepy and confused. “Hey, I have to go.”

“Phil?” she asks.

“Yeah. Thanks. I'll see you Wednesday.”

“Go take care of your man.”

Despite everything, that makes Clint smile. “Bye.” He hangs up and stands.

“Who were you talking to?” Phil asks.

“Nat.” Clint walks over to Phil.

Understanding spreads across Phil's face. “You weren't there when I woke up,” he says softly, tugging the sleeves of his shirt over his fingers. 

There's so much vulnerability bleeding through those words that Clint reaches for Phil without thinking. He wraps one arm around his shoulders and another around his waist, pressing as close to Phil as he can. “Sorry. I couldn't sleep and I wanted to talk to Nat and I didn't want to wake you.”

Phil's fingers dig into the fabric of the hoodie. “The entire apartment was dark and I didn't know—” He pauses, and when he continues, he sounds much more in control of himself. “It wouldn't normally bother me.” He doesn't need to spell out why it gets to him tonight.

Clint strokes over his nape. “Wanna go back to bed?”

Phil nods and steps out of the embrace.

One of the bedside lamps is on, casting a soft glow around the room. Phil gets into bed first, sitting on the edge to toe off his slippers. He pulls his legs up under the comforter but doesn't lie down. Clint takes the hoodie off before he follows suit, sitting close enough that their sides are pressed together.

Phil hunches over his knees. “I...” 

Clint isn't sure what to do. It seems like Phil wants to talk to him, but doesn't know how. Clint wants Phil to share more, but he also doesn't want him to get even more upset. Talking late at night about haunts from your past seems like a bad idea, but maybe it's also easier than in the light of day. 

In a low voice, Clint says, “Can I ask you a few things?” Maybe they can start this way.

“About Dan?”

Clint nods.

“Of course.” There's no hesitation in Phil's answer.

The first thing Clint wants to ask isn't really about Dan, but it's the thing that has been weighing on his mind the most. “After Dan—after he died, did you have someone to—someone who helped you?”

Phil looks at him. To Clint's surprise, some of the sadness disappears. “I did. My best friend. Melinda. She was at Columbia with me, and she figured out that something was off. I didn't want to tell her, but she's persistent.”

“You didn't tell her about you and Dan before?”

“No. I didn't want that to change how she thought of me.” A trace of bitterness winds through his words. “I should have known better.”

Clint brings an arm around Phil. For comfort, but also because he's starting to get cold. “She took it well?”

“At first, she was furious with me for not telling her. But then she took care of me. In her own no-non-sense way. She'd make sure I went to all my classes. And she'd show up with food and watch me eat it to make sure I actually ate. I probably would have dropped out if it hadn't been for her.”

“Sounds like something Nat would do.”

Phil smiles. “Yes, she reminds me of Melinda.”

“D'you still talk to her?” Clint hopes that the answer is yes. She was clearly an important part of Phil's life at a point when he couldn't turn to many other people. Or perhaps not to anyone else at all.

“I do, sometimes. When we're both in Chicago at the same time, we get together.”

“Maybe you should call her.”

It takes Phil a moment to answer. “Yeah. That might be good.” He moves back to lean against the headboard, pulling Clint with him. He makes sure to cover both of them with the comforter. “Thought you might be cold.”

Clint leans into him. “Maybe.”

Phil presses a kiss to the top of his head and finds his hand under the blanket. Their fingers tangle. Clint realizes that it has started to rain. Drops hit the window at a steady speed.

“I keep thinking about the last time I talked to Dan.” Phil's voice is just loud enough for Clint to hear. “He told me to take care of myself and to be happy.” He holds on to Clint's hand a little tighter. “And I wonder, what would he have done with his life? Where would he be now? Would he have continued with photography and writing, like he planned? Or done something completely different?” He takes a deep, uneven breath. “It's been such a long time. A whole life, almost, unlived.”

Clint blinks away the tears stinging his eyes. He lost his parents under very different circumstances, but he asks himself similar questions on occasion. If they would have ever gotten their lives together. If they would have ever been a real family. “Were you with him when he died?”

“No. The last time we talked, he was already in the hospital, and his family was on their way because—because the doctors said it would be a good idea. Dan's family didn't know about him, or about us, so I didn't—It wasn't my place.”

Clint turns his face into Phil's shoulder and tries very hard not to make a sound, but a sniffle escapes him nevertheless.

“Hey,” Phil whispers. “I can stop.”

Clint turns his head enough to answer him. “Don't. 'm okay.” He isn't really, but he wants Phil to get this out. Even if it lodges an ache in Clint's chest that pushes at his ribs and heart.

Phil lets go of Clint's hand so he can wipe Clint's cheeks. “This was all a long time ago.”

“Still hurts, though, doesn't it?”

“It does,” Phil whispers. “In a way, I'm glad that I wasn't there. I don't know if I could have handled—it was hard enough getting a phone call from his mom after. Dan told her about us after she got to the hospital, so she called me. She was very kind.”

“That's good.” Clint doesn't know how else to respond. 

“It helped. She even let me pick some of his things. That's why I have all these pictures that he took.”

Instead of reacting to that with yet another meaningless phrase, Clint kisses the soft skin under Phil's ear, and his cheek, and finally his lips. He keeps it light, a brush of lips, because it's about the connection and nothing else.

Phil holds him tight for a few moments after, one hand cradling his head and the other pressed against the center of his back. As he eases his hold, he asks, “Sleep now?”

Clint feels exhausted. Instead of answering, he lies down. He isn't surprised when Phil turns onto his side again. Clint slots their bodies together. He rubs over the center of Phil's chest, right where his own hurt lingers. 

**

Phil is already awake when Clint blinks his eyes open the next morning. Phil is on his side, just a few inches away, and he smiles at Clint. It's brief, but it suggests that Phil feels better. Or so Clint hopes.

“Morning. Been up long?”

“Not too long.”

“Did anything wake you up?” Clint doesn't want to ask outright if their late-night conversation carried over into Phil's dreams. 

“No. Just woke up.” 

Phil doesn't seem to want to get up yet, which is fine with Clint. Too often Phil will hustle them out of bed to get their day started, or, at the very least, to make coffee. Clint vastly prefers to linger in bed on the weekends, especially when it's cold out. He reaches out to trace the lines at the corner of Phil's eye and between his brows. There's still some tension there, but considerably less than yesterday.

Phil catches his hand and kisses his palm. “Glad you're here,” he mumbles into Clint's skin. 

“Always.” It's the only thing Clint can think of. He can't guarantee it, of course, but he can promise it. 

Phil lets go of his hand. “Me too. You know that, right?”

Of course he does. A flush of warmth tingles through him when Phil says that. Whenever he says that. “Yeah, I do.”

“Good.”

Phil slides his arm around Clint, pressing his hand into the small of his back in an invitation to come closer. Clint goes willingly. He gets a kiss in return, which leads to a series of long slow kisses. Phil rolls onto his back, pulling Clint along, nudging him until he slides between Phil's legs. Their kisses take on a sharper edge. Phil's cock starts to fill and his hips push up, both of which are very welcome, but Clint wants to feel Phil directly against him, not with a few layers between them.

“Clothes off?”

Phil lets out an approving noise and begins tugging his T-shirt and pajamas off. They manage to wiggle out of their clothes without pushing the comforter off or elbowing any sensitive body parts.

Clint groans when their bodies slide together, skin against skin. A shiver spikes through him the first time the head of his cock brushes up against the coarse hair below Phil's navel. He presses down harder, chasing after the feeling. Phil moves with him. Each roll of his hips leaves a sticky trail against Clint.

Just as Clint wonders if they'll get off like this, Phil flings a hand in the direction of the nightstand. 

Clint opens the drawer. “Lube?” Phil nods. “Condom?” Phil nods again. Clint wouldn't have pushed for it, but he's glad that Phil wants to fuck. It's still the way they connect best; how they let everything else fall away.

He's about to drop his haul into Phil's hand, but Phil stops him. “Can we—will you...”

Oh. It's not what Clint expected. Most of the time, Phil fucks him. It's a habit they fell into because it works for them. “Sure, yeah.” He picks up the lube and flips open the cap. 

“Go slow. I might not be at my most relaxed right now.” 

“Okay.” Clint shifts to give himself enough space to reach between Phil's legs. “If you want to stop, tell me. We don't have—”

“I want to.” Phil runs his hand down Clint's side and across his hip until his thumb brushes against his cock. “Want you.”

It's such a small touch, but Clint draws in a sharp breath nevertheless. “Don't,” he warns.

Phil looks pleased with himself, but he draws back his hand a little. 

Clint gets to work. He strokes Phil's cock a few times, watching his face closely. Phil doesn't get loud during sex, but Clint has learned to read cues about the level of arousal on his face. When a flush starts to appear across Phil's cheeks, he moves on. He spreads more lube over his fingers. Using only his fingertips, he rubs over Phil's hole in small circles. As he increases the pressure, he can feel the muscles relax. He widens the circles to include the tight skin behind Phil's balls. Phil's breathing changes into quick puffs, and that flush has spread beyond his cheeks down his neck. 

“C'mon,” Phil urges. 

Clint presses two quick kisses to the center of his chest. “You asked for slow.”

Phil shoots him a look.

“Let me do this. It'll feel so good when I get in you. Promise.”

Phil whines.

Since Clint isn't a complete tease, he pushes harder during the next circle. His finger slides in with ease. As he twists and turns, Phil sighs, and his hips roll up into the touch. Two fingers are as easy as one, even when Clint presses them against the rim to open Phil even more. One day, he wants to find out if Phil can come only from this. Maybe if he adds his tongue, too; Phil loves that. 

A squeeze to Clint's hip urges him to leave his thoughts behind. Phil's face comes into focus, his mouth going slack when Clint's fingers push in at a particularly good angle. “Ready?”

Phil nods. He helps Clint to get the condom on. 

“Want to turn over?” Clint asks, almost certain that the answer will be yes. It's Phil's preferred position, after all.

“No. Like this.” 

It's what Clint likes best, especially when he gets fucked. It's easiest to hand himself over that way, to direct Phil, and to keep him close for kisses. He wonders if Phil is asking for this for the same reason—for that extra bit of connection. “We can always move if this doesn't work for you, okay?”

“Yeah.” Phil tugs Clint closer for a kiss. 

Clint watches Phil's face as he pushes in. There's a moment when Phil struggles with the stretch; he draws in a few rapid breaths that threaten to become shallow and tense.

“Hey, no, don't. Look at me.” Phil's eyes meet his. “Deep breath. One's enough.” He inhales and feels Phil's chest expand under his. On the exhale, Clint slides all the way into Phil. “There.” Phil's hands spasm against his back, but he doesn't tense up. “Draw your knees up. It'll feel good.”

As Phil's legs rise to frame Clint's hips, he lets out a startled gasp. 

Clint smiles. “Told ya.” 

He starts moving. He takes his time setting up a rhythm, testing out what gets the best responses out of Phil. Long slow strokes make Phil more vocal, and he pulls Clint tight against himself until their cheeks touch. Clint turns his head to mouth along Phil's jaw and neck, keeping up the even in-and-out. He knows he can continue this for a while still, but Phil starts to get restless underneath him. His cock is slick and hot against Clint's stomach; when Phil tries to reach for it, Clint gently stills his wrist.

“Not yet,” Clint whispers. “Let it build.”

Phil groans and digs his fingers into Clint's shoulders.

Clint slows down his strokes. He pulls out almost all the way, then takes his time pushing deep into Phil. “Doesn't that feel good? When you're almost there—” He twists his hips. “But it's just out of reach? You know it won't take much more...”

Phil's mouth falls open, but no sound emerges.

Clint moves again; out, then in. Phil's thighs tremble against his sides. He watches Phil closely, aware that he's testing his limits, but also certain that Phil is inviting him to do precisely that. The look on Phil's face says he's lost in his pleasure, willing himself to hold on and experience this moment, much like Clint asked him to.

“It won't be much longer,” Clint promises as he nearly leaves Phil again. “Think you can wait until I'm all the way in again?”

Phil nods.

As Clint presses forward as slowly as he can, precome steadily pulses from Phil's cock. Clint has to grit his teeth, suddenly on the brink himself.

“Please,” Phil begs. “Can't—too much.”

Clint brushes his lips against Phil's cheek. “I got you.” He increases his tempo and shortens his strokes, putting his back into them.

Phil groans in relief. He hitches his knees up even more, trying to get Clint deeper.

Clint's been there—when he's almost ready to come, but he needs that one additional push. Phil's incredibly good at giving that to him, and he hopes he can do the same for Phil. 

He lets go of Phil's wrist. Phil whimpers in relief, grasping his cock. His knuckles dig into Clint's skin as he works his hand up and down with increasing speed. Clint keeps himself deep in Phil, fucking into him fast and hard.

“Keep going, keep going,” Phil pleads as his eyes close.

Clint's thighs start to ache and he can feel sweat drip into his eyes, but he doesn't stop. Phil begins to tighten around him and he goes quiet in the way he does just before he comes. For a brief moment, his entire body tenses up, and then he spills over his hand and Clint's stomach. Clint slows his strokes, gentling them into lazy rolls of his hips until Phil is done.

Knowing that Phil gets sensitive after he comes, Clint moves to pull out, but a hand on his ass stops him.

“It's okay,” Phil murmurs. “You don't need to.”

“But—” Clint's rather close himself and he wants to get off.

“Want you to stay right here.”

That almost makes Clint come on the spot. His hips twitch forward, pressing his cock deeper into Phil again. A shudder runs through Phil's entire body.

“Clint, please.” Phil let his knees drop after he came, but he draws them up again. Opening himself to Clint.

Clint moans, unable to keep himself in check any longer. He buries his face in Phil's neck as he pushes into Phil with sloppy strokes. Phil twists a hand into Clint's hair, tugging sharply. It's what tips him over the edge. He loses himself in the bliss washing over him.

“Thank you,” he whispers as soon as he regains coherency. His muscles feel sluggish, but he pulls out of Phil, unwilling to make him uncomfortable or worse. He doesn't move any farther, however. 

Phil runs his hand up and down Clint's back for a while, but eventually he says, “Let's get cleaned up.”

Clint ambles to the bathroom to get rid of the condom and pick up a washcloth, which he carries back into the bedroom and hands to Phil. He takes it from Phil again after he's done. With precision, Clint manages to toss it into the hamper in the closet. 

“That will never get old,” Phil says. He looks much more relaxed. “Come lie down for just a bit.”

The request surprises Clint. Even when they have sex in the morning, they don't often cuddle afterward, both of them too intent on getting started with the day. Clint slides back into bed and curls into Phil's side.

Clint is on the brink of dozing off when Phil asks, “Does it bother you that we still use condoms?”

The question is so unexpected that Clint only manages a brief “uhh.” He tries to marshal his brain, but realizes it's a lost cause. “Can we, uh, can we have this conversation when I can think clearly again?” He doesn't want to put his foot in his mouth, and that's bound to happen if they talk now. They both have many complicated feelings on this issue, after all. 

“Sure. Sorry. It popped into my mind while you were in the bathroom. Let's get up and have coffee.”

They pull on some clothes and move into the kitchen. Breakfast is quiet, but it's not an uncomfortable silence. Clint tries to get his thoughts in order, but he isn't sure where Phil wants to go with the question about condoms. Maybe it's best to hear him out first.

They take their cups of coffee over to the couch. Clint sits down in one corner and draws up his knees. It happens out of reflex. He considers sitting in a different position because Phil knows him well enough to read his body language. But there's no reason to hide that he's a little nervous. 

Phil settles close to Clint and turns toward him, bringing one arm around Clint's knees to find his hand. “This okay?”

Clint nods. He tucks his toes under Phil's thighs. “So. Condoms.”

“Yeah.” Phil fidgets. “I wanted to talk about that because—because I worry that it'll come between us. Not now. But someday.”

“Why would it?” Clint keeps any confrontation out of his voice.

Phil licks his lips. “Because you said...you mentioned before that you like going without. And you've asked me about that a few times.”

It was more pleading than asking because Clint was really turned on at the time. Phil's right, though, he has asked. Never in a demanding way, though, because Phil told him early on that he won't fuck without a condom. “Yeah.”

“I don't want this to become an issue.”

Clint doesn't think it will. But the prospect of Phil never going bareback with him—well, that is difficult to imagine, too. “I get why this is important to you. Why it's important, period. Especially after hearing about Dan.”

Phil's eyes dart away.

“That's why, I assume. Because of Dan.”

Phil nods.

Clint should leave it at this. Reassure Phil that this is not an issue, that their sex life is fine as it is. But that also wouldn't be entirely honest, and he's sure that Phil wants to hear all his thoughts on the matter. “So you don't think that we'd ever...”

“I don't know,” Phil mumbles. “I know it's irrational.”

Clint cradles Phil's hand between both of his. “Not irrational. Maybe overly cautious. But if that's what it takes to make you feel safe, then that's what it takes.”

“It does, but it's also—I trust you.” He looks at Clint in an open, honest way. “I have absolutely no doubts about our relationship, and we've seen each other's test results.”

“I got tested again two months ago.” When Phil looks at him with surprise, he adds, “Habit. If there was anything...it would have shown up by now. I haven't even gone bare with anyone in five years.”

“I know.You've told me before.” He looks lost.

Clint lowers his knees, stretching his legs over Phil's lap, and wiggles closer. “Have you ever thought about it? With me, I mean? Or does that freak you out too much?”

It takes Phil a moment to respond. “I have. I've thought about what it would be like.”

“Okay.” Clint has fantasies about it. His favorite is them waking up together, Phil pressed against him, already hard. A little lube to ease the way would be all it takes. Phil pushing his leg out of the way, sliding in. Short, hard strokes until Phil comes in him. The mere thought of it is enough to make Clint take a deep breath. 

“I'm sorry.”

A pang of guilt flashes through him. Phil probably took his silence for disapproval. “You don't have to apologize. Look, we all have things we're not comfortable with, okay? If this is one of yours, then that's fine.”

“But you like it, don't you? The way it feels.” Phil studies their entwined hands.

It's hard to stay honest. Clint doesn't want to make Phil feel bad or inadequate. “I do. But that doesn't mean...look at me.” He waits until Phil's eyes meet his. “Our sex life is great. No complaints. When you fuck me, I feel like my brain's leaking out of my ears.”

Phil blushes.

“'s true.”

That gets a smile out of Phil.

“See, that's better.” Clint presses a soft kiss to his lips. “I promise that I'll let you know when something's not working for me.”

“Okay.” Phil sounds relieved. “We could—we could try. Barebacking. I don't know if—if I can go through with it. But I remember...Dan and I, when we first started dating, we'd...” He pauses. “I remember that it felt good, and I want that with you, too.”

Clint knows how hard it was for Phil to get these words out. He climbs into Phil's lap and wraps his arms around Phil's shoulders. He kisses the downy hair at the top of Phil's head. “I'd love to try with you. And if it doesn't work, we can keep having brain-meltingly hot sex, like we do now.”

Clint can feel Phil smile against his chest. “Alright.”

**

In the late afternoon, Phil disappears into his office for an hour to talk to Melinda. Clint is glad that she responded to Phil's email so quickly and hopes this will help Phil to sort through the memories that have resurfaced over the past few days.

When Phil returns to the living room, his eyes are red and he looks a little shaky, but also more settled. Clint hugs him and bundles him onto the couch, tucking the fleece blanket around him.

When he brings Phil a cup of hot chocolate, Phil accepts it with an amused glance. “I'm fine, you know.”

Clint sits down and pulls Phil against him. “Let me take care of you.” He meant for that to come out in a half-serious way, but the words sound quiet and raw.

Phil slumps against him, letting go of the need to hold himself upright and together. “Okay, but I will be fine.”

“I know. But for now, let me do this for you.” 

Phil makes it through half of his cup before he says, “Talking to Melinda was good. She said she has some pictures of me and Dan that she'll scan for me.”

“I'm glad.” 

Clint casts around for something more, but it seems like they've said everything that needs to be said about Phil's college days for the moment. He's sure that these memories will linger in Phil's mind, but hopefully laced with less pain. At least Clint knows about Dan now. Phil probably had moments when he thought about Dan in the past year and a half since he started seeing Clint, but considering how much it hurt Phil to talk about that time, Clint gets why he hasn't mentioned these events before. Phil will be able to share those moments now, and Clint will be there to listen.

He pulls up something from their DVR queue and starts stroking Phil's back until he drops off into an exhausted nap. They spend the rest of the day on the couch, keeping close, even when they eat dinner in front of the TV, their elbows bumping occasionally.

**

The two days of work the next week pass quickly. When there's a lull, Clint wonders whether there will be any awkwardness the next time he has sex with Phil. On Tuesday evening, Clint takes a shower to wash off the mud from a long day of outdoor work. He's rinsing shampoo out of his hair when Phil comes into the bathroom to ask if he can join Clint. It's an unusual request, but one that Clint grants happily. They don't often shower together, and if they do, it's on the weekend.

Phil steps under the water, pulling Clint close for a kiss. Maybe Phil has had similar thoughts about their sex life. If this is about reassurance, Clint can give that to him, whichever form that might take. Phil touches Clint with purpose, turning him so he can lean against Phil's chest. 

One of Phil's arms comes around to steady him. “This okay?” Phil asks as his fingers drift down Clint's body.

Clint hums his assent. The mere prospect of Phil's hand gets him hard. Phil doesn't tease; it's deft strokes from the start, pushing Clint toward a quick orgasm. It's perfect. Clint broadens his stance and feels Phil's hard cock slip between the cheeks of his ass. Phil rocks up against him, the twitches of his hips already uncoordinated. Clint braces one hand against the shower wall to provide a counter-point to Phil's movements. Phil moans and presses himself to Clint as much as he can. The slide of his cock feels amazing, and Clint wants to hold on longer, but the ruthless pull of Phil's hand rips the orgasm from him. He groans and shudders, glad that Phil's keeping him on his feet.

Reaching back to make sure that Phil isn't moving an inch away from him, Clint eggs Phil on until he comes with a quiet whine that bursts across Clint's neck. Clint turns to gather Phil into his arms, and they hold each other until the water runs cold.

**

Through some miracle, they both have Christmas Eve off. Since Phil plans to recreate Jen's traditional Christmas dinner, they get started in the early afternoon. When the doorbell rings to announce Nat's arrival, they are almost done—the ham needs another twenty minutes in the oven, but all the sides are keeping warm on the stove. 

Dinner is excellent, and Clint even enjoys the wine Natasha brought. He enjoys the cherry pie from the tiny bakery in her neighborhood even more.

They retreat to the couch later, and Nat pulls out a bottle of vodka. “I was thinking that we could toast the people in our lives and those we lost along the way.” She looks at Phil. 

Clint noticed that they talked in the kitchen earlier while putting away leftovers.

Phil clears his throat. “That—that would be—I'd like that.”

Clint stands. “I'll get some glasses.” Once he returns, he pours himself the first shot. “To John.” The vodka leaves a pleasant burn behind. 

As they pass the bottle, Clint recognizes some names, but not others. There are no explanations, and while the mood is somber, it's not sad. All three of them dedicate a shot to Dan.

As the evening winds down, Nat makes sure they all drink plenty of water. Close to midnight, she gets up, clearly intent on leaving.

Clint reaches for her hand. “Do you want to stay? It's late and it's pouring outside.”

“I'll be fine.”

“I know, but...” It would be nice to have Nat there tomorrow morning. Clint realizes that the vodka has made him feel needy, but he spent many a Christmas morning with Natasha, and he missed her when he went to Chicago last year. “Unless you have plans with Maria?”

“She left to see her folks.”

“In that case, please?” Clint tugs at her hand.

Nat rolls her eyes, but she doesn't pull away from his hold.

“The couch is very comfortable,” Phil says. “We don't have any special plans for tomorrow. Just gifts and leftovers. Although we did promise to Skype with my nephews, so that might be on the early side.”

Natasha looks back and forth between them. Her eyes linger on Clint. He can understand her uncertainty. She's as bad with family things as he is. But Christmas with him and Phil is hardly a traditional holiday—mostly, it'll be like any other lazy day off.

Finally, she says, “Okay. It would be nice not having to trudge back to Greenpoint at this hour.”

Clint can't hold back a grin. Or the kiss he presses to her cheek as he gets up. “I'll get some blankets and a pillow.”

Nat smacks his arm, but whispers “thanks” to him in passing.

**

“Nooo,” Clint whines when the alarm goes off the next morning. It stops almost immediately; Phil has quick reflexes.

“You were the one who promised we'd Skype with the kids as they open their gifts.” Phil pulls Clint closer until he's sprawled most of the way across his chest. “We have ten minutes until we really need to get up.”

“Than' you.” Clint doesn't want to move. He's fine right here, both of Phil's arms around him and his steady heartbeat in his ear. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you as well.” Phil's voice is low and fond. 

Clint slips a hand under Phil's T-shirt, curling it loosely over his side just above the elastic of his pajama pants. He knows the dip of Phil's hip is only a little lower. If they had more time, he'd trace that line—it always gets a reaction out of Phil. Maybe this afternoon.

Much too soon, Phil dislodges Clint and gets up. Clint lingers for another minute and finally motivates himself to follow suit with the prospect of coffee and talking to Max. The last few weeks at school had been rough; Max had picked out a new pink winter jacket and some kids had teased him mercilessly for looking like a girl. As much as Clint is happy to be at home for Christmas, he wishes he could give Max a hug. 

He pulls flannel PJ pants printed with Santa hats out of the drawer and grabs Phil's old Columbia sweatshirt. He isn't surprised to find Phil and Nat in the kitchen, carrying on an easy conversation.

Natasha greets him with a warm smile. She allows herself to be pulled into a tight hug. Clint drops his head to her shoulder, suddenly overcome with gratitude for being able to spend Christmas with his two favorite people.

Perhaps Nat can sense how overwhelmed he is. She pulls back the tiniest bit to kiss his cheek and whisper, “Never forget that I love you.”

Clint manages to mumble “me too” into her ear. He squeezes her one more time and lets go. He disrupts Phil's intense focus on making coffee to give him a kiss that lasts longer than their standard good-morning greeting.

“First cup's almost ready,” Phil says.

Clint only notices now that he's wearing one of Clint's Parks hoodies. Phil isn't often sentimental enough to do that, but maybe the Christmas spirit has gotten to him as well. Clint tugs at the cuff in acknowledgment, which brings a slight flush to Phil's face.

“Bagel?” Nat asks, holding up one plain and one cinnamon raisin.

“Yes.” He points at the cinnamon raisin.

Phil's phone chirps. Reading the text, he says, “The boys are up. Jen thinks we have another ten minutes before they demand to start in on their gifts.”

Clint nudges Phil with his hip. “Go get your laptop. I'll finish up the coffee.”

He works silently alongside Nat to gather all the breakfast essentials and carry them over to the couch, where Phil has already started Skype. Natasha curls into one corner while Clint and Phil sit close together to look at the screen.

Clint makes it through half a cup of coffee and a few bites of bagel before the video call comes in.

Jen's tired face comes into focus; there are shrieks of glee in the background. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Phil greets. “I see Christmas is already very merry.”

“Too merry for 7:30am.”

“Clint! Uncle Phil!” Max comes bounding toward the camera. “Look what Santa got me!” He twirls in a purple tulle skirt he pulled up over his pajamas.

Seeing Max so happy makes Clint's chest feel tight. “It looks great. I'm glad Santa gave you such a pretty skirt.” Phil's hand slides into his. Clint tangles their fingers together, glad that Phil knows what he needs.

“It's purple!” Max smoothes down the skirt with careful strokes.

“Purple is the best color,” Clint affirms.

Phil shoots him an amused look. “You know, we asked Santa to leave something for you and Eric at your house.”

“You did?” Max looks back at the piles of presents under the tree. 

Mark gathers two boxes and shoos Eric closer so they can open their gifts where Phil and Clint can see them. Eric tears through the paper in seconds, unveiling a set of baseballs.

“Thank you, Uncle Phil!” 

“I think you mean, thank you, Santa,” Phil gently corrects with a nod at Max, who is bent over his gift, slowly picking at the bow to untie it.

“Right, Santa,” Eric says with an eye roll. “Dad, can we try these out? Just for five minutes?” 

Mark and Jen exchange looks. When Jen nods, Mark stands. “Five minutes.” His and Eric's chatter fades as they move out of the frame. The bang of the backdoor cuts it off completely.

Max has removed the last bit of tape and pushes the paper apart to reveal a small book.

Clint leans forward. “You can use that to start your birding life list. Your mom can help you write down the names of birds.” He has worried for weeks this would be too boring of a gift.

Max cradles the book to his chest. “Did you tell Santa to bring this for me?”

“Yeah. Do you like it?”

Max nods and flips through the pages, which contain sections for rare birds and everyday birds and different years.

Jen brushes a hand over Max's hair and mouths 'thank you' at Clint and Phil. 

“Are you and Uncle Phil going to visit again soon?”

They were just there at Thanksgiving, but that probably seems like forever ago to Max. “We'll see.” Clint hates having to give such a vague answer, but he also doesn't want to get Max's hopes up.

“How about we try to set up a time to talk every week?” Phil suggests. “That's almost like visiting.”

“Okay.” Max is trying hard not to let his disappointment show.

Clint understands; Max is a tactile child. Just seeing him and Phil isn't really a substitution for hugs and cuddles, both of which Max asked for quite frequently at Thanksgiving. Clint doesn't know what to tell him. 

“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea,” Jen says, wrapping an arm around Max. “Maybe on Sundays?”

“Sundays are good,” Phil affirms.

“You can tell me which birds you see every week,” Clint adds.

Max perks up at that. “And show you the book.”

Clint smiles. “And I'll tell you what happens in the park.”

Max offers a tentative smile in return.

“We should probably get started on breakfast,” Jen points out.

Clint braces himself for another round of disappointment on Max's part, but Max looks excited. “Are we going to have pancakes?”

Jen nods.

“We're going to have pancakes!” Max tells Clint and Phil. “Merry Christmas, bye!” He runs off.

Looking after her son, Jen shakes her head. “Thanks for getting up so early.”

“It was nice to see the looks on the kids' faces,” Phil replies. “Did Mom and Dad call already?”

“No. They'll probably sleep in, and with the time difference, I wouldn't expect to hear from them until this evening.”

Phil's parents sent them a holiday card with palm trees from Hawai'i. It was addressed to both of them and signed “Love, Mom and Dad,” which made Clint feel very odd. He understands and appreciates the gesture, but doesn't know how to handle being addressed like that.

When he tunes back into the conversation, he hears Jen say, “...probably take the kids to the Field Museum tomorrow.”

“Is Max doing better at school?” Clint can't help but ask.

“We'll see after break.”

It's what Clint expected to hear. “If there's anything Phil and I can do, let us know, okay?”

“I will.” Jen gestures toward the kitchen. “I should probably make sure that he doesn't get started on those pancakes by himself. Have a good Christmas, you two.”

“You as well,” Phil says.

“Bye!” Clint waves into the camera, getting a brief wave back before the connection is cut.

Phil closes the laptop.

“You really love that kid,” Nat observes softly.

Nat has heard many stories about Max, and she has even listened to Clint vent a few times when Jen and Mark weren't as understanding of Max as Clint would have hoped. “Yeah, I do.”

Phil rubs Clint's back. “And Max loves Clint just as much.”

“He's a good kid, and I wish—” Clint holds back his maudlin thoughts. It's Christmas, after all, and he and Phil have already shared more than enough sadness for one holiday season.

“I know. I wish we could be there for him in a more direct way, too.” Phil nuzzles his cheek.

Natasha shifts closer to Clint. “Look at it this way: imagine you had known a couple like you two when you were growing up and how much that would have meant to you. You might not always be in the same city as Max, but he knows you're...”

“Happy, well-adjusted adults?” Phil fills in.

Clint snorts, and Natasha smiles. “Something like that.”

“Thanks, Nat.” She has put many things in perspective for Clint over the years.

She accepts the compliment with her usual grace. “Shall we see what Santa has left for all of us?”

“We should.” Phil sits down on the floor next to tree. Clint and Natasha follow. There's a small pile of gifts. Phil takes a picture with his phone as Clint hands Nat a small box and a card.

Clint rubs his hands across his thighs. It felt right to get this for her, but now that she's about to see it, he's unsure all of a sudden.

“Should I read the card first?” she asks.

“After you open it.”

Nat unwraps the gift. A small smile appears on her face as she pulls the silver necklace with the arrow charm out of the box. Clint saw it at the holiday market in Columbus Circle and knew she should have it. “It's beautiful. Thank you. Can I read the card now?”

Clint nods, trying not to fidget. Phil moves a little closer to him, an offer of silent support that Clint very much appreciates.

Considering how long Clint agonized about how to put his feelings into words, he has the content of the card memorized. _You've always kept me on the right path, straight & true. Merry Christmas._

Nat looks at the card for far longer than it takes to read the sentence. When she finally looks up, her eyes shine. She wraps her arms around Clint for a brief but fierce hug. Clint squeezes her and lets go. He's relieved that she appreciates the gift and didn't think it was too much or too sentimental. That's a fine line for Nat, and while she's generous with Clint when it comes to being too much of a sap, he doesn't like to make her uncomfortable.

“I have something for you as well.” She slides a gift bag across the floor. “It's for both of you.”

Phil nods at Clint to see what's inside. Folding back the tissue paper, Clint finds a sturdy frame. It contains a photo of him and Phil, their heads bowed close together and dopey smiles on their faces. 

“That was on my birthday, wasn't it?” Phil's hand settles low on Clint's back as he leans closer to study the picture.

“Yes. The frame is salvaged wood from upstate.”

“Thank you,” Phil says. “It's beautiful.”

Clint remembers how happy he was that day. “Thanks,” he mumbles and gives Nat's hand a squeeze. She holds his gaze, a content smile on her face.

“My turn.” Clint reaches for the gift he got for Phil.

“Want to unwrap at the same time?” Phil holds a fairly large package in his hands.

“Sure.” Clint accepts his gift, which is heavy enough that he sets it on the floor. The wrapping paper is dark green with white snowflakes. Clint carefully slides his finger under the tape. They're going to throw out the used wrapping paper, but old habits die hard. A hardcover book comes into sight. He turns it over and opens it. _Check-list of Birds of the World, Vol. V_. Clint traces a finger over the title, amazed that Phil remembered that this particular volume was missing from the set Clint inherited from John. It might even be a first edition. 

He must have made a noise because Phil asks softly, “That's the right one, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Clint whispers. “Thank you.” 

Phil smiles at him, bright and happy, corners of his eyes crinkling. “You're very welcome.”

Clint turns a few more pages. “Wasn't this insanely expensive?”

“I got a good deal on it.” 

“Those illustrations are beautiful,” Nat observes.

“Yeah. I used to sit in John's office and look through various volumes.” The books are in Clint's apartment now; he's looking forward to adding this volume to complete the set. He casts around for words to express how much this means to him, but can't think of any. He settles on another “thank you” and hopes Phil realizes all that is left unsaid. The look he receives from Phil suggests that he understands very well. 

“Open yours,” Clint encourages.

Phil is much less careful with the wrapping paper. He looks genuinely excited to find the travel mug inside. “This is the best gift. Thank you.” He kisses Clint with much enthusiasm.

Clint flushes with happiness. He felt a little stupid giving Phil what seems like such a generic gift, but Phil has been complaining about his leaky travel mug for months. “The reviews said that it's absolutely spill-proof even if you drop it. Um, if you want another color, we can—”  
“I love the purple. It'll remind me of you.” The affection in Phil's eyes is almost too much.

The fake-shutter of a phone camera breaks the moment. “Sorry,” Nat says, not sounding sorry at all. “As much as it pains me to say this, you two are adorable.” Both Clint and Phil make protesting noises, but she waves them off. “You are.”

“Send it to me?” Phil asks.

Tapping on her phone, she replies, “Already sending it to both of you.”

As Clint looks around to remember where he left his phone, he spots something under the tree. “What's this?” He points at a small flat round box. 

Phil picks it up with hesitation. “It's something for both of us.” He twists the box in the palm of his hand.

“I'll go make some more coffee,” Nat announces as she stands.

Clint studies Phil, suddenly curious. He doubts it's anything kinky since Phil isn't the type to buy sex toys for Christmas.

Phil shuffles closer until they face each other, their knees bumping together. He slides the box into Clint's grip, but keeps one hand on it, preventing Clint from opening it. “I wasn't sure if—I saw this and couldn't walk past. I almost didn't put it under the tree because...well, you'll see. It doesn't change anything, but I—well, you should open it first.”

Confusion mixes with the curiosity. Clint has no idea what might be in the box or why Phil seems so nervous about giving it to him. He plucks off the bow and slowly lifts the top. There are two rings inside. Clint stares at them, his heart in his throat. They talked about this when they went back to the bridge in June. They decided marriage wasn't for them—why would Phil buy these? He wouldn't spring something like this on Clint.

Phil's hands gently settle on Clint's knees. “I'm not proposing. I stand by what we talked about before.”

Hearing that explanation answers some of Clint's questions. He sucks in a breath. “But?” There has to be one.

“We don't have to be married to wear these. I—I like the gesture, and I liked these rings. They're brushed steel. Ordinary, but sturdy.” Phil sends Clint a hopeful glance.

Clint can still barely get past the idea that Phil bought matching rings for them. Of course he wants to spend the rest of life with Phil, so he can't pin down why looking at the box makes him feel anxious.

“If it's too much, we can forget about these. I know it was risky to get them without asking you first.” Phil sounds sincere, which only makes Clint love him more.

Clint folds Phil into a tight hug. He doesn't want him to think that he's angry.

“I didn't screw up Christmas with this, right?” Phil whispers.

“Not at all.” Clint strokes over Phil's hair until Phil slumps against him.

“Good.”

Clint pulls away just enough so that he can look at the box again. He runs his fingers over the rings. “I like the way they look. That they're really simple.”

“I liked that, too.”

“Which one's mine?”

Phil points at the larger one. “I don't know your size, so I used my fingers as a guide.”

Clint picks up the ring. “Uhh, which hand? Left?”

“Yeah.” Phil lets go of Clint. His hands once again settle on his knees.

Clint is about to slide the ring on his finger when he decides that if they're doing this, they're doing it right. “You do it.”

Phil's hand hovers. “Sure?”

Clint nods.

Phil picks up the ring and slides it on Clint's finger. He keeps Clint's hand in his. “Fits pretty well.”

“Think so, yeah.” He clears his throat. “Want me to do yours?”

Phil holds out his hand. Clint pretends he isn't trembling as he pushes the ring on. Phil studies it, then laces their fingers together. The rings clink softly. It's a strange feeling. 

As so often when he feels unsettled, Clint seeks comfort from Phil, who lets out a pleased hum when Clint brings their mouths together. The kiss turns deeper than Clint intended, and if Natasha wasn't there, Clint would crawl into Phil's lap to take this way beyond kissing. 

After they part, Clint twists his ring with his thumb. “I don't know if I can always wear it, but I want to try.” Knowing that Phil hasn't changed his mind about getting married makes agreeing to the rings easier. 

“Same.” Phil leans forward until his head tips against Clint's chest. He huffs out a laugh. “God, I was so nervous about giving these to you.”

Clint settles a hand on the back of Phil's neck, thumbing over the patch of skin behind his ear. “We're good. Love you.”

Phil exhales. “Love you, too.”

They sit quietly together for a while. Noises drift over from the kitchen area. It sounds like Natasha has started to unload the dishwasher. Clint appreciates that she gives them some privacy even though their voices may have carried across the room. Clint closes his eyes. He feels for Phil's left hand and traces over the ring. Everyone will assume they got married over Christmas. Clint isn't looking forward to explaining the situation a bunch of times. But it's worth it, ultimately. They are sure of each other, after all, and he likes the idea of there being an outward symbol of that. 

“Should we release Natasha from her pretend-coffee-making exile?” Phil whispers.

“Yeah.” Straightening, he calls out, “Nat! How's that coffee coming along?”

“Oh, it's so very done and you know it.” 

Clint laughs. Phil smiles broadly at him, looking content and at ease. Yeah, they're good.


End file.
